


Reflection

by Polemokrateia



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, HOMER - Works, Hellenistic Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Trojan War, Yes Really, embrace the crazy, which of them is the weirdo?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 06:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17523212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polemokrateia/pseuds/Polemokrateia
Summary: in which Odysseus learns the war messed him up more than expected, Tydeides has too much patience and the phrase"Diomedean compulsion" is coined.Not a part of "Sing, Goddess", but hopefully still interesting.





	Reflection

It takes a few heartbeats for Odysseus to register the clear starry sky above and what it means.

It's over. No more water tunnels, no more sneaking around in an enemy city. This war, while not yet won, has a very real chance of coming to an end.

The Ithakan could have sworn he had not drawn a single breath during the whole mission. Now, he can bask in that luxury again.

They did it. They did it, right?

He looks at his friend. At the small wooden statue in his hands. At all the blood, unnaturally vivid despite the darkness.

It is one thing to dispatch a temple guard before he can notify anyone else of the intruders. But touching a sacred xoanon with unclean hands so carelessly is entirely...

There will be consequences, Laertiades knows. The stars see all.

Akhaia is a step away from victory. A step away from its inevitable reckoning, too.

How many steps to Ithake, then? And would Helle's sea not turn red once the Akhaian ships touch it?

His head spins. It is full of blood, of knives, of poison. Necessary sacrifices, self-serving betrayals, sacrilegesacrilegesacrilege.

His island home might as well be a world away. The nympholeptes, however, is right here, cawing madly, a promise of return on his lips - after twenty years.

That voice never grew silent - not for Odysseus. And now, it is deafening and more real than anything.

His fingers find the dagger hilt unconsciously. Grasp it. Draw the weapon. Prepare to strike. Reflected moonlight gleams oh. So. Brightly.

A flash. Before the Ithakan knows it, he is incapacitated, arm twisted behind back painfully.

That went about as well as could be expected. Just how fast is this bastard? Or was the attempt just that inept?

\- What in Tartaros came over you? - Diomedes demands.

\- Oh, take a wild guess. You expect such treatment of the Palladion to go unpunished merely because the Goddess favours us?

\- Laertiades, you know there was no time to approach it properly.

\- It doesn't matter. You're fucked. And so am I - just by association.

That cold, steely gaze holds Odysseus' indignant one. A shower of icy water could not have been more sobering.

Odysseus gulps. The blade of his own dagger is a finger's breadth from his throat.

The younger man's tone is even - eerily so.

\- You are right, we are all fucked. So what?

A shake of the head. At this point, he releases his hold on Odysseus. Surely the latter has reached his daily limit of absurd stunts.

And so he has. Aside from a few very clumsy punches that are all too easy to block - the islander can normally throw better ones while drunk - he seems to have calmed down somewhat.

Diomedes would have found the scene amusing - part of him still does - yet it is anything but.

\- We have hardly been throwing dice for ten years, have we? Reasons or no reasons, it is a bit too late to run from the consequences of our actions in this war. This is one drop in a sea of blood - and you think keeping up appearances would have fooled Nemesis?

\- Sometimes one drop is a drop too much. We were supposed to win. I was supposed to go back home. It was never supposed to be like... like this.

Except, of course, Victory is all too often just. Like. This. 

The Argive covers his face with his hand, exasperated. So many words, but they barely make sense even to Odysseus himself. They have given the Gods far better reasons to be angry than today's impiety. What is driving the Ithakan insane is something else entirely.

\- ...That prophecy you were given in the cave of the Nymphs. It's eroding your sanity.

A weak nod. Forget ten years of bloody battle. What comes after can sometimes be worse.

\- Odysseus, this is not the time. Right now, we have a job to do. You will deal with the next obstacle - if the prophecy is even correct - once you reach it.

\- I'm a human being, and I've kept myself in one piece for far too long. I am allowed to break.

\- Broken things can often be restored. But for now...

\- What? What now? I can't fight my own bloody shadow. Why should I, even?

\- Because giving up is not an option. Because no matter how much you panic along the way, you still always persevere in the end.

He lowers the dagger now. Pauses a while.

\- You want to be next, Ithakan? You want to drown in that garbage the weakest part of you keeps spewing?

Odysseus has decided the ground is endlessly fascinating. He knows all too well what "next" means. No need for elaboration.

Far too many have lost to Lyssa - men who could match any enemy, who seemed invincible until...

He would have liked to say this has nothing to do with him. Before tonight, he probably could have mouthed the words. Not anymore.

\- Why not? I probably should. Better men than I have.

The ruler of Argos mutters a few distinctly Aitolian curses. They have tarried too long here. Then:

\- Get. Your. Act. Together. Now. You can freak out back in camp. Move.

An order. Fine. Laertiades complies. There is a part of him that is relieved to do so. Another must be too exhausted to resist, or too intimidated, perhaps. But, first and foremost, he has decided this is not the way he wants to meet his end. Not so close to victory. Not on such a beautiful night. Not by his own dagger. Not by a friend's hand.

Suddenly, Odysseus finds himself laughing. This friend had just been a few heartbeats from killing him. With full justification, too.

Half of the reason the Ithakan managed to survive this far is that he had been given far too many second chances.

His stride is still not confident - but it's getting there. Now, if only those stupid hands stopped trembling, and he could find the voice for an apology...

On second thought, no. Not now. If he is going to ask for forgiveness - he had better mean every word. For the time being, he can be an obedient little sheep and march towards the damned camp without complaining. Amuse himself with pretending fear of the bronze... goad, so to speak.

The shepherd understands. Far too perceptive for anyone's good, crows take him.

\- Listen, this will pass. The war. Whatever waits for you after. You will be back to... if not yourself, at least to someone who knows where he belongs.

\- Some other Odysseus, huh? Sounds about right. If my current idiotic self tries to reach home, a decade will not be enough.

And so, to the camp they go. Small steps. Excruciatingly small, to be honest. But the son of Laertes is once again slipping away from Lyssa's talons.

He touches the Palladion at some point. Gingerly, with much more fear than warranted, considering his companion has been handling the xoanon just fine.

Well, there is no smiting involved. Must be a good sign. Or a terrible one.

Diomedes returns the dagger, of course. Not that his friend knows what to do with the piece of bronze.

It's an eyesore. For no rational reason, but still.

The Ithakan wants to throw it away. Then, he wants to keep it - and all the attendant memories. Eventually, he decides to haul the weapon around until the shores of that island with the sweetest name in existence greet him.

He doesn't, of course. The dagger is lost somewhere between Skylla and Kharybdis, if not earlier.

But, after the longest time, Ithake does welcome her wayward king. The seagulls laugh in a familiar language, and he can begin mending what is broken and see what happens.


End file.
